


it's been awhile

by days4daisy



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: Angst, Dark, Hurt/Comfort, Implied/Referenced Rape/Non-con, Implied/Referenced Torture, M/M, Past Relationship(s), Season/Series 04
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-14
Updated: 2018-02-14
Packaged: 2019-03-03 18:16:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,387
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13346787
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/days4daisy/pseuds/days4daisy
Summary: Harvey has been caring about Jim Gordon for four years. He doesn't have any heart left to give.





	it's been awhile

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tunglo](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tunglo/gifts).



> Happy Chocolate Box, falsteloj!! Your letter captured all the pain that is these two this season! Hope you enjoy this angst fest :)

Harvey opens his door, but he doesn't want to. He knows who it is; only a handful of people would have the nerve to show up at this hour. Harvey catches his swinging door with emphasis. The hallway fills with the sound of wood smacking skin. His floor is dark save a single panel light flickering on the ceiling. Harvey has given up on the building ever getting the damn thing fixed.

He tells himself he's opening for a quick, two second “Screw you.” Imagine that, Harvey getting one over on his two-faced ex-partner for once. A slammed door won’t make Harvey GCPD Commissioner again, but it has to count for something, doesn't it? 

Jim's face is bruised, but this isn't a shock. The guy chases danger like he has a death wish. At least these new marks cluster mildly on his jaw. No busted lip, no swollen eyes.

Harvey doesn't tell him to fuck off, but he manages the next best thing. “You've got no business being here.”

“I know,” Jim says, like his voice has gone through a shredder. His suit jacket is wrinkled and flecked with blood, and his shirt is undone to the chest. A red, angry welt weaves snake-like across his chest, and finger marks splotch his throat like skipping stones.

Harvey wavers - damn him, he wavers, even though he knows better. This is Jim’s MO, how he always wins. “Gotham General’s three blocks up," Harvey says. "I can’t help you.”

“I know.” Jim averts his eyes.

Harvey wonders if anyone is listening behind the hallway's closed doors. He’s been in his neighbors' shoes a few times, listening to fun break-up screamers. Hell, he busted an attempted robbery once, just by being a nosy bastard.

Nothing interesting about this, though. Just a former cop and his idiot ex-partner. “So leave,” Harvey says.

“Please.”

Jim being contrite isn't new. He’s apologized to Harvey for being stupid and selling him out. Bullshit, every time. Jim says he's sorry when it makes Jim Gordon look good. Making Harvey 'see reason' is a nice way to build his personal fairy tale. Worthy new GCPD commish, fully backed by the guy he double-crossed, ha.

This feels different, though. Jim wavers on his next words, like he’s afraid of what he may say if he isn’t careful. “I’ll leave in the morning,” he says, “before you get up. You won't see me. Please, Harvey.”

“You’ve got some damn nerve,” Harvey grumbles. He’s mad, and he’s got a right to be. Jim always has sympathy on his side. This time, it isn't going to work. Harvey knows what Jim is and how far he’ll go to get what he wants. It doesn't matter who he has to trample to get it.

But Harvey isn't an asshole either.

Harvey throws his door all the way open. He lets the knob crack his wall, screw whoever they haven't managed to wake up yet. “You know where stuff is," he says gruffly. "I want you out at sun up.”

Jim enters quietly and quickly, like he’s afraid Harvey is going to change his mind. Harvey would, if he had any sense.

Harvey feels his lack of sleep as he shuts the door. Jim is already in his closet searching for a towel. If Harvey didn’t know better (and he does), he’d think the guy is about to burst into tears.

“Thanks, Harv,” Jim mumbles. He closes the guest room door behind himself.

Harvey runs a frustrated hand through his hair. He’s pissed that Jim actually thanked him, it's one less thing he can hold a grudge about. He's pissed that Jim still knows where to find the bath supplies too, and - no doubt - the spare clothes in the guest room.

Mostly, Harvey hates that he feels guilty about chewing Jim out. Looks like tonight wasn't a good night. But it doesn't matter, it _can't_ matter. Harvey has been caring about Jim Gordon for four years. He doesn't have any heart left to give.

Harvey knocks on the door to the guest room but enters without waiting for an answer. Jim is already in clothes he's left over here through the years; an old Army t-shirt and sweats. Harvey considered donating his stuff. Or, if he had a backbone, he would have dumped them on Jim's commish desk. Would have been perfect, Jim’s clothes in a pile next to Harvey’s badge and gun.

Jim looks stupid-young sitting at the end of the bed. Always did before too, when he used to come over. His grin belonged in a frat house, not an old cop's bedroom. “They’ll bust the door down,” Harvey used to tell him. “Cradle robbin’ ain’t a good look.”

Jim stares at his own hands, or at the very obvious rope burns around his wrists. He wears them like bracelets, crevices blistered in bruising blue.

Harvey wants to throw up, or haul Jim’s ass out the door. He wants to punch Jim in the face, tell him to stop getting into messes he can't clean up himself. Harvey isn't looking out for him anymore, Jim made damn sure of that. He’s on his own, and Gotham knows it. Penguin may be on the shelf in Arkham, but his lackeys know Jim is to blame. So does every other mob boss set on picking up Penguin's slack. Now that old man Falcone is dead, others will try to take his place.

“Thanks for letting me stay, Harvey.” Jim looks up from his lap with a tight smile.

“You didn’t leave me much choice,” Harvey says. Jim flinches but doesn’t argue.

Harvey still can’t believe Jim did this to him. No matter what crazy stuff they got tangled up in, Jim was always his brother, his… He was always _with Harvey_. Even when they disagreed, Jim was with him.

“I couldn’t go home,” Jim says quietly. “I’ll be gone in the morning, I just… I couldn’t go home.”

“That where this happened?” Jim's silence is answer enough. “Penguin’s guys?”

“No.” Jim scrubs the back of his neck. “No, it was-" his eyes flit nervously. "I’m not sure who. It’s not Penguin. Wasn’t his MO.”

Harvey raises a skeptical brow. “Kicking your ass ain’t Penguin’s MO?”

Jim shakes his head. Harvey catches him rubbing one rope-burned wrist.

Maybe this is good, Harvey thinks. Knock the kid down a peg, make him remember that even he needs back-up now and then. Gotham is a dangerous place, especially when you're Jim Gordon and all the crackpots in this city know your name.

Harvey spits away the thought like a bad taste. He may hate Jim for what he did, but he doesn’t want to see him like this either.

“I got Tylenol in the bathroom,” Harvey says, “and stronger stuff under the vanity. Long as you don’t bust me for it.”

Jim smiles, small and painful,. Apprehension coils in Harvey’s stomach. “Thanks, Harv,” Jim says. “I’ll be outta your hair in the morning.”

“Good,” Harvey says, and he turns away before they can make eye contact again. He retreats to his room and shuts the door. His hands are shaking.

Damn Jim. Damn him for being here.

***

It used to be a tight fit in Harvey’s shower. Jim would pat Harvey’s stomach with a teasing look. “Don’t look at me. I’m not the one hitting the cream-filled.” Harvey used to like calling his bluff.

Jim’s poster boy body was great for shower sex. He looked like a pinup under Harvey, greedy hands grabbing the excess bulk on Harvey’s back. Jim must have thought the shower spray covered his pleased sounds. It never did.

Harvey shakes the thought out of his head. Down the hall, his shower is running. It’s bad enough his turncoat of an ex-partner is in his apartment, now he’s naked in Harvey’s goddamn shower.

He glances at the red numbers on his alarm clock. 4am. _Christ_. Only good thing is Jim will be out of here soon. Maybe for good this time, although Harvey doubts his luck. They keep running into each other. At the precinct. At Falcone’s funeral (lot of nerve Jim had showing his face there). On the street too, randomly. Jim never seems to notice, but Harvey always does.

Maybe this is Harvey’s punishment for agreeing to Penguin’s licenses. Hell, maybe this is punishment for Fish. Harvey has plenty to do penance for. Makes sense that torture would come in the form of Jim Gordon.

The shower stops, and Harvey lets out the breath burning angrily in his chest. Couple more hours, and he’ll be alone again. Jim has lied to him plenty, but he won’t lie about this if Harvey ever meant one iota to him.

Harvey closes his eyes. A car coasts by his window, bass shuddering through the walls.

If Penguins goons didn't do this to Jim, who did?

Harvey listens for the sound of the bathroom door opening. Five minutes go by, then ten. It doesn’t open. Maybe Jim is moving slower than usual tonight. Even by “Jim Gordon Ass Kicking” standards, he's banged up. Dumbass probably didn’t call for help, didn’t want the GCPD getting a coward’s rap so soon after locking Penguin up. Been awhile since the Force has commanded respect, but it’s a fragile thing. The press won’t play nice the second Gordon slips up. Harvey knows what it’s like - impossible standards, even for a boy scout like Gordon.

He glances at the clock again. “Son of a bitch,” he mutters and shoves himself out of bed.

The hallway is dark, save light bordering the bathroom door. Harvey takes his time, floorboards creaking with every step. He wants Jim to hear him.

Harvey stops in front of the closed door. “You alive in there or what?” he barks.

A shuddering breath answers. “Jim.” Aggravated as Harvey is, he can’t hide his concern. “You ok?”

Nothing. “Shit,” Harvey grumbles. He twists the doorknob.

Jim’s head snaps in his direction, hands braced on the vanity. He has his sweats on, Army shirt folded on the toilet lid. Jim’s eyes are red and wet. Noticeable tear tracks mark his cheeks.

His shoulders...his back...he’s a goddamn mess. The mark across Jim’s chest was far from the only one. Lashes cover his whole body, crossing like tic-tac-toe. The lines cut under the waist of Jim’s sweats. They must be all over his legs too.

“Jesus,” Harvey gapes, alarmed. “What the hell happened?”

It’s like a switch flips. “Sorry,” Jim mumbles. He scrubs his face with his towel. His eyes look worse when he’s done, swollen red and bleary. By the way he’s moving, he’s having trouble staying on his feet.

“The hell did they hit you with?” Harvey presses. “Jim-”

“I needed a shower. I wanted- I had to-” Jim gestures towards the bathtub when his words fail. The smile he turns on Harvey is jarringly desperate. “I’m ok. Go back to sleep, huh?”

“You can’t just show up here and…” Harvey has never seen Jim this close to cracking, but he still can’t keep the accusation out of his voice. “This is nuts!”

Jim winces but nods. His grip on the vanity turns his knuckles white. “Yeah,” he says. “I shouldn't be here. I just - I had to go somewhere-”

“I’m not mad you’re here, you bastard,” Harvey says. It isn't completely true, but his own circumstances are out of the window. _Like always_ , his brain reminds snidely. It isn't wrong. “You’ve gotta talk to me, Jim.”

Jim's mouth opens, then clamps shut again. Harvey can only stare when fresh tears start down his cheeks.

Jim turns his back and gropes for his towel. “Fuck,” he mutters behind it. “Sorry.”

“Stop. Jesus, just.” Harvey hooks an arm around Jim’s waist. He’s still damp from the shower, a light layer of warm slicking his skin. “Come on, living room.”

He urges Jim a step but stops, startled, at a muffled hiss. Jim's head-to-toe shudder chills Harvey just as much.

“You hurt?” Harvey asks. To an outsider, it would be a stupid question. Of course the guy’s hurt, he’s wearing the cuts and bruises all over his body.

Jim knows what he means, though. There’s hurt, and there’s _hurt_. They’ve both had their asses handed to them enough to know the difference.

Jim's face is splotched red when he lowers the towel. “Yeah,” he rasps. Harvey follows his gaze to the Army shirt still folded on the toilet lid.

“I don’t-” Harvey starts, but Jim’s grimace quiets him. He looks miserable, and oddly embarrassed. Harvey can’t imagine why, as much shit as they’ve been through together. The possibilities make Harvey grit his teeth. Jim doesn’t want to tell him, though, and Harvey doesn’t want to ask. If he's honest, he's afraid of what the answer will be.

Harvey grabs the t-shirt for him. Jim's jaw clenches as he pulls it on. His eyes sit low when he manages to get it over his head, tired redness on his cheeks.

Harvey grabs the shirt's hem and helps it down the rest of the way. Jim jerks against him, like he’s been startled out a deep sleep.

“You good to walk?” Harvey asks. Of all the questions he could ask, it's the only one he thinks Jim will answer.

Jim takes a deep breath. “I fucked up, Harv," he says quietly. "I fucked up big time, with you.”

“Yeah, well." Harvey musters a smile. "What the hell can I do now? I already let you in.” Jim chuckles, and it feels - it's not an olive branch, but it's something. Harvey grumbles and tightens his arm around Jim’s waist. “Come on, there’s a couch out there waiting.”

“How ‘bout a beer?” Jim asks. He hooks unsteady fingers into the back of Harvey’s shirt. They take their first step. Jim puts on a brave face, but pain lights his eyes like a storm.

“You’re pushin’ it, partner,” Harvey grouses. Cold hollows his gut. He tries not to think about it.

It takes a minute for Harvey to catch his own slip. Jim hisses a laugh. “Partner,” he echoes. For one disconcerting second, it's like he's in another world.

Harvey shakes his head; at Jim, at himself, at this whole goddamn mess. “Hey,” he says.

Jim nods. Together, they move.

*The End*


End file.
